Childhood
by SherlockChlo
Summary: Why is Sherlock so against people? Did something happen in his childhood that caused all of this? Sherlock has no record of his past in his Mind Palace, so when Mycroft offers him the information he doesn't sit around. All rights go to the BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Rated T for self harm and suicide attempts.
1. Chapter 1

_**Hello, again. I wrote this a couple of months back, using the people around me, which is a terrible thing to do in terms of this story... You'll find out why in later chapters. This probably sounds like other growing up life story things but I didn't have them in mind when I wrote them. I simply thought about why Sherlock could be so against people and this is what I thought of. I hope you enjoy it! Oh, I don't own Sherlock. All rights belong to their respective owners. **_

_**The Truth About Sherlock Holmes**_

_**His Childhood**_

'I would like you to meet me at Speedy's, Sherlock. -MH'

'What exactly for, brother? -SH'

'I need to talk to you about something most pressing. -MH'

'Go on. If it doesn't interest me here, I'm sure your voice will not make it any more interesting. -SH'

'It is about our childhood, Sherlock. There is a few things that I have told you which are not, strictly, true. -MH'

'I'm sure that is the lie, Mycroft. -SH'

'Why don't you find out? -MH'

'Okay. But I'm warning you; my mood isn't great at the moment, Mycroft. If you bore me in any way, I'll be back up here to practice my violin... I'll be there in 5. -SH'

_**Chapter 1**_

_**Mycroft meets Sherlock**_

_**(221B Baker Street)**_

Sherlock threw down his skull. He'd been examining it for the past hour but still could not find a single clue to how many times Mrs Hudson had cleaned his flat in the past week. He was sure that it was 15 times, but the rate of dust on the skull would prove his theory. However, at this point in time; no dust had collected on the skull. "You incompetent piece of SH..." John stomped into the flat holding 7 heavily packed bags of shopping.

"Well, thanks for your help." John was agitated; Sherlock could tell. He could see his eyebrows rising higher up his face and the anger behind his eyes increasing. "Do you-know, how long-it takes-to get-OUR shopping?" John's voice repeatedly stopped. He was obviously out of breath. Even he couldn't manage to carry 7 bags of food and essentials easily through the centre of town.

"I'm off out." Sherlock rose quickly form his crouching position in his armchair and flung his dark coat over himself. "Mycroft wants to," He paused attempting to find the correct words, "Tell me the truth about some things." He tightened the navy blue scarf around his neck, but only so far that his face managed to turn even paler than it was before. "Laterz" Sherlock called to John as he jumped down the flight of stairs. John stood silently for a moment with his hands placed upon his hips. He then let out a small sigh and carried 3 of the over-flowing bags into the kitchen.

_**(Speedy's Cafe- Below 221B)**_

Sherlock had grabbed his coffee. He made sure that this one was strong so that he could pour every piece of hatred that he had for his brother into it. He also had 5 sachets of sugar instead of 2 and this coffee had milk. He usually had his teas and coffees black, so this was a meeting that Sherlock did not want to attend. When Sherlock had caught eye of his brother; he slowly paced forward towards the table. Mycroft greeted Sherlock with a brief handshake and nod of the head, and then returned to his seat. Sherlock slumped himself down into his chair, he hated having meetings with his brother. Let alone one's about their past.

"Sherlock." Mycroft scrolled his eyes upon his brother's state. His conclusion; he looked dreadful.

"Mycroft." Sherlock had always enjoyed mimicking his brother's stupid tones. He had done it many a time when they were younger. Mycroft rolled his eyes at his brother's immaturity. It was always the same thing from Sherlock.

"Sherlock. Why do you always have to act in such a childish manner?" Mycroft scowled. "Any way. Do you know why I am here?" He now placed his hands together on top of his folded legs.

Sherlock sighed deeply. He had always hated it when his brother did this to him. "Well, you asked me to come, so surely you know. On the other hand, you told me that this discussion was about our childhood?" He sat in the chair, straight backed and watching his brother constantly.

Mycroft sipped a small amount of tea from his mug and then sighed. "I'm here to tell you the truth about," The next word he emphasised, "your" And then returned to his normal tone, "childhood, Sherlock." He could see no movement in Sherlock's eyes, which he anticipated.

"What? You're here to tell me that my whole life was a complete lie?" Sherlock rose from his seat and placed his hands into his pockets. "Nice try Mycroft." With a small wink, Sherlock turned to leave.

"Father used to beat you. Do you not remember? Do you not remember those nights where you crawled up in your room and hurt yourself? Do you not remember the constant bullying from everyone around you?" Mycroft tilted his head indicating to Sherlock that he wanted him to sit back down. He paused to see if his brother would turn around. "I had to make you forget it eventually. You were having too many nightmares, as I recall." Mycroft's tone was now different. His head didn't move as he watched his brother re-take the seat opposite with his eyes.

"When was my last true memory then, Mycroft, if this indeed is true?" Sherlock gulped down a large amount of coffee. He needed it. He couldn't believe a word that Mycroft was saying, however he was very intrigued by it.

Mycroft tilted his head backwards, trying to find the information Sherlock demanded. "Your 4th birthday." He replaced his head to its natural position and stared right into the man opposite's eyes. "I was teaching you algebra..." Sherlock started to remember everything.


	2. 4 years old

_**Here it is, chapter 2. I'm glad that lots of people are enjoying it already. This is where the violence starts, so if you don't want to read about abuse or bullying then please don't read this. There are worse chapters, but this is where **_**everything _starts. Thank you for reading and please review if you enjoy it! :) _**

_**Chapter 2**_

_**A 4-year-old**_

_Ever since Mycroft's parents had brought home his little brother, Sherlock, he had loved him. He could see his own intelligence in him and he liked it. From that moment they immediately had a connection like no one had ever seen Mycroft have with a person. He, at the time, was 7-years-old. He didn't have a care in the World, except for his school work. He wanted to do well, and he knew what he had to do to get there. As soon as his parents had told him that he would be getting a little brother or sister, Mycroft had planned out lessons on everything. He was the most excited out of the Holmes family. His parents didn't share his excitement and joy. Especially considering Sherlock had been born a boy, instead of a girl. _

_**(4th birthday)**_

"_Mycroft? What are you doing?" Sherlock's dark and curly hair bounced as he did. He flew through the door into his brother's room. He always looked forward to his lessons with his older brother, who was now 11._

"_Sherlock. I don't have time right now. I'm doing algebra ready for September. You wouldn't understand it." Mycroft wasn't in a good mood today. Both Sherlock and their parents had started to notice slight changes in Mycroft's attitude. _

"_What's wrong Mycroft?" At this age Sherlock had an inner sweetness. He didn't like to see his brother angry, nor sad. "September is months away. I'm sure I will understand..." Sherlock started to rock from heel to toe. He always wanted to learn something new. _

_Mycroft sighed and flicked his head to tell Sherlock to come closer. "Well." He paused and turned to his younger sibling, "Since it's your 4th birthday; I suppose I could let you." Mycroft smiled at Sherlock. He enjoyed looking into his eyes and seeing the different colours follow each other around the iris. He stroked Sherlock's long hair and then placed him upon his knee. "I'll give you an easy sum first, okay?" Sherlock simply nodded and then looked at the paper in front of him. "This sum, 2x=2y+4, you need to re-arrange it to make 'y' the subject. Okay?" Sherlock immediately picked up the pencil that lay beside his hand and started to scribble onto the paper. He could already read and write, much to his parent's surprise. It was the assistance from Mycroft that helped him to learn. After 30 seconds of Mycroft watching Sherlock scribble he looked at the piece of paper and read the answer, "y=x-2... Well done Sherlock." He then patted his younger brother on the head and pulled his curls out of his face. "Come on. Birthday time!" Mycroft was actually more excited about his brother's birthday than Sherlock was. _

"_I chose it especially for you." Mycroft smiled at Sherlock. He was the only one in the family that actually cared about his brother and his 'feelings'. Though, he'd started to teach him that 'feeling's were a waste of time._

_"I like the wrapping, Mrycroft!" A small and fragile Sherlock beamed at his brother's gift. "The book, however..." Sherlock's face changed expression quickly. To Mycroft he looked as though he was about to cry. "I LOVE IT!" He burst out of his chair and wrapped his tiny hands around Mycroft's neck. He then whispered into his ear, "Thank you." Mycroft let his brother down and walked over to his parents._

"_What did you give him, Mummy?" Her stare looked deep into Mycroft's heart._

"We, Mycroft, did not get him anything."

"_He doesn't deserve anything like you do, my boy." His father pat Mycroft's shoulder and then returned to his straight looking position. Mycroft almost screamed at his parents. He couldn't believe that they hadn't gotten Sherlock anything. On the other hand, he could see their point. He knew himself that he was the favourite of the parents, and he was happy it was that way. _

"That was the first day that you started to eat less. Shame really. It was also the first day Father..."

Sherlock interrupted his brother's speech, "The first day Father beat me." his eyes were staring down deep into the table. They hadn't moved since the conversation had began.

"_How's your book, Sherlock? I know how much you want to be a pirate when you grow up." Mycroft chuckled to himself. He enjoyed making his brother happy and he could see from the way that Sherlock laughed as the pictures jumped out at him, that he was very happy with his present. _

"_I can't WAIT to be a pirate, Mycroft." Both Sherlock's eyes and fingers traced the pictures both inside the book and on the pop-outs. He loved the fantasy of being a pirate. _

"_Sherlock!" Their father shouted at the top of his voice to them. He sounded extremely angry, and that filled Sherlock with a slight fear. He jumped out of the chair and ran for his father's call. "What have I told you about running in the house, Sherlock?" After his words were finished, he punched Sherlock's left cheek. Sherlock could feel pain all over his face and then his ribs. His father kicked him straight in the chest. The bruising was already starting to appear due to the force of the kick. Sherlock didn't know what to do; he covered his eyes and crawled into a ball. "If I catch you running again, boy, you know what will happen." His father walked away from him, into the dining room, leaving Sherlock broken on the floor. _

_He could feel his heart pounding faster. He had never felt pure fear of his father, nor anything in his life. But from this moment onwards, Sherlock would never end a day without being beaten or kicked by his father, until he was 11. "Sherlock?" His vision was blurry but he could just make out Mycroft's figure wiping his face and carrying him upstairs. Mycroft placed his brother onto his bed and then ran to get one of the maids. Even though Mycroft was exceptionally intelligent, he didn't know what to do right now. _

"_What's happened Master Mycroft?" Her voice was sweet and pleasant to Mycroft's ears._

"_Please. It's Sherlock. Help." Mycroft sped ahead of her and ran toward his brother's room. When he reached it, Sherlock was standing by his window and holding his stomach. He had erased the pain from his mind at this moment and therefore told the maid to, "Please leave. I do not need your assistance."_

_"What are you doing, Sherlock?" Mycroft hugged the back of his brother. He didn't like seeing his brother upset, or in pain of some kind. But Mycroft was in denial. "Why did you have to make him angry? You deserve everything you get." His tone was now angry. He didn't want to side with his father, but he knew that it would keep him out of the picture. For now. And with a final push of Sherlock's head, Mycroft left and stormed down into the living room to join his parents. Never had Sherlock felt so alone._

Sherlock now remembered this day clearly. He remembered watching Mycroft leave in the the reflection of the window. "That was the first day that I hated you, Mycroft." Sherlock picked up his coffee and clutched his ribs. He could feel that first kick that his father had given him and the blow to his face. The surge of pain that he felt that day was nothing like anything he had recently experienced. Everything now was worse. "What else did you 'erase' from my memory?" Sherlock then took a sip from his mug and replaced it upon the table. Mycroft only sat and stared at Sherlock's actions.

"_I don't want you to go Mycroft." It was September now, so Mycroft was moving into his Boarding School. Sherlock was waiting by the door to say goodbye to him, before he too went to school. "Why do you have to leave?" His icy-blue eyes looked up to his brother. "You won't be here to teach me algebra!" Sherlock's new favourite topics were reading and algebra. Every Thursday evening Mycroft would lead Sherlock into the study, and then teach him the extended maths that he had been learning. _

"_I've left plenty of books for you to read through until Christmas, Sherlock. You don't need my help any more. School will give you everything you need in terms of education. Just, try and listen to them. For me?" Mycroft went to stroke his brother's ever-growing hair. "And one more thing," He knelt and whispered into his ear, "Keep in mummy and father's good books." And with that, Mycroft kissed Sherlock's head and left for his new Boarding School. Sherlock watched the car leave the drive. He saw it vanish behind the trees along the road, and now he knew, he was alone. Just as he was about to turn back, a strong and vicious hand grabbed his arm and held his other shoulder. _

"_Now listen here, you little brat. If you don't behave at this school, I will beat you until the light of day cannot be seen through your little winter filled eyes. Do I make myself clear, boy?" Sherlock's Father shouted right into his face. He didn't want to turn away, however he couldn't stand the colour his face turned when he was angry. His mother gave him a clip round the ear as a goodbye. "Take him away Michael." Both of Sherlock's parents strolled back into their home. He watched the doors close behind them. He secretly was relieved that school would be a place where he could have friends and people he liked around him._

_"Come along, Master Sherlock." Michael hurried him into the left hand side of the car. He watched Sherlock get beaten everyday by his Father, but he couldn't do anything. "Are you okay, Sherlock?" Sherlock was sitting with his knees rested against his chest. He hugged his legs like a normal child his age would hug a teddy-bear. He didn't move, or say anything, apart from a nod to answer Michael's question. "It's a great school. You'll meet people who like you." Michael tried to encourage the little boy that sat next to him. When he had taken Mycroft for his first day of school, it was kicking and screaming. But Sherlock was broken. He wanted to leave this place, even if it was only for a few hours. However he didn't show it; who knows what his Father might do to him if he ever told him._

Sherlock cleared his throat. "I remember that day. My first day of school, and you left me some books. You were always the favourite and you wanted it to remain that way." His head turned violently away from his brother that sat opposite.

"I went to Boarding School, Sherlock. Don't be such a child." Mycroft snapped back at Sherlock. "Do you remember what happened when you got there?"

_When Sherlock and Michael arrived outside of the towering gates, Sherlock's eyes widened. It was something that he could never imagine. "Michael. Why do I have to go to school? Mycroft says I'm smarter than those other kids." He tried to put on his best and most convincing sympathy smile. _

"_Sherlock. You've got to show them what you're made of. Here." Michael got out of the car and opened Sherlock's door for him. "Please, promise me that you'll try hard." He lent out his hand to the smaller boy. Sherlock shook it politely. He didn't like contact with other people usually, but for Michael he would make an exception. "Here you go sir." Michael placed Sherlock's bag upon his shoulder and took his place back inside the car. _

"Of course. Mummy and Father told him to let me go in alone. How predictable."

_Sherlock was rather tall for his age, but compared to the other students in other years, he looked tiny in comparison. After following the map through the year 6 corridor and then the year 4 corridor, Sherlock finally made it to the 'Great Hall'. Children, all similar to his age, ran around the hall while the parents waited. Sherlock walked forward confidently. He found the perfect seat where nobody would disturb him, and brought out the book that Mycroft had gotten him for his birthday. He still enjoyed it greatly, even though he despised the owner. _

_A tall and bony looking man stepped towards the front of the hall. His name was Mr Clay. "Good morning reception classes." His first words were followed by a chorus of 4 year old children repeating his words. "When we call your name, please line up in the appropriate line. Thank you. Now. Class 1: Melissa Thomas, Andrew Thomas..." Sherlock drowned out the surrounding noise, until FINALLY his name was called. He was in Class 3. A rather young looking lady lead Sherlock and the rest of his class mates into their new classroom. He didn't like the look of it. Everywhere were pictures of previous classes, and that made Sherlock feel depressed. He stopped looking up towards the ceiling when suddenly his view was now of the floor._

_"Oh sorry, I didn't see you there." A fair headed boy who was a little shorter than Sherlock had pushed him over purposely. He tried to lie that it was an accident, however his sniggering to the boys behind him, who were already his 'minions' gave it away. "Anderson." The boy held out his hand, but Sherlock refused to shake it. "Well that's a bit rude." Anderson started to taunt. All Sherlock did was turn away to chose his chair for the year, when __**SMACK! **__Anderson thumped Sherlock in the very back of his neck. Sherlock did nothing. "Oi! Freaky boy!" Anderson had already picked out a nickname for his first victim of the year. __Sherlock gave out a quick sigh and turned to face the blonde. Anderson tried to go for another blow, however this time Sherlock grabbed his fist._

_Pushing it to the ground, Sherlock whispered into Anderson's ear, "I am not a freak!" He then let go of his grasp. He didn't immediately realise it, but the whole class including Miss Buttle, had just watched Sherlock humiliate Anderson. Eyes watched him, and other children moved away. Sherlock was left all alone at the front of the class. The other kids sniggered when the register was called. He sighed. This wasn't exactly the start that he wanted at his first school. _

"And what happened at break, Sherlock?"

_Sherlock walked across the playground to the furthest bench away from the school building. He watched every other kid run and play. In the corner of his eye he caught sight of a very angry looking boy and his group of 'friends'. It was Anderson. What did he want this time? "Sherlock Holmes? My sister went to school with your brother, Mycroft." Sherlock smiled. His brother was well-known then? "She said that he was a very strange person, and to watch out for his equally mad brother. That's you." He pressed his sausage looking finger against Sherlock's chest. Sherlock started to see red. His fists started to clench, but he managed to hold it together. For once, Sherlock's anger didn't control him. He was proud in a way, although he didn't show it. He didn't have to anything in the end. _

"_GET HIM!" All Sherlock could hear were those two words repeated by 5 different boys. He felt his ribs cracking under the pressure of their stomps. _

_Anderson had started it off with a right hand around the nose. The bruising could be felt underneath Sherlock's skin. He knew what was coming. He then re-hit Sherlock's eye with a left-hook. Sherlock had fallen to the ground. Then the others started. Kicking. Punching. Stomping. Sherlock curled up into a ball, protecting his chest and head. Not that it would do much good, but he'd had worse at home. _

"_What do you think you're doing?" An average height girl pushed through to help Sherlock up. Her hair was auburn and her smile showed all of her baby teeth perfectly aligned. "Come here." She picked up the boy that lay in front of her. "You're a monster Anderson..." All Anderson did was laugh at her. He let her take Sherlock, but she'd pay for it eventually. _

_Sherlock's eyes remained tightly closed, he didn't know that someone had saved him. He could still hear their shouts and feel the kicks. With one swift motion, Sherlock punched the nurse. She screamed. Sherlock's eyes opened slowly, they were heavy and he couldn't see clearly. It was mostly blurry; but he could make out the faint shape of a girl standing over him. "Hello?" Her voice remained like he'd heard before. He could tell that she was caring and brave. No other girl would take on a bunch of boys like that. She must have been strong-hearted. _

"Who was it Sherlock? Who saved you from those bullies?"

"They were not bullies Mycroft," Sherlock was agitated now, "They simply beat the crap out of me."

"_I'm Molly. Molly Hooper." She held out her weak looking hand towards him. He didn't accept it, only looked at her up and down. Who was this mysterious girl? "I'm in Class 3, just like you." She smiled at him. He could see her eyes straight through the long eyelashes that fluttered at him. He started to deduct who she was from his own research. _

_**Height: Average**_

_**Hair Colour: Auburn**_

_**Eye Colour: Brown/Hazel**_

_**Family: Rich-ish, could afford to buy a 4-year-old a horse and 7 rabbits**_

_**Personality: Likes to look out for her fellow students. Afraid of being bullied herself. Was bullied earlier in the day-Could see bruising on her left arm.**_

_Sherlock enjoyed the chase through Molly's life. "Thank you, for erm... What you did." Sherlock had never really said thank you to anyone, so saying it to someone he'd only just met was a very hard position to put himself in. Molly smiled into Sherlock's eyes, and then merrily skipped off back to her classroom._

"That was the first time you met Miss Molly Hooper. Is she still as dear to you now?" Mycroft smirked at his brother.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock snapped back. "You've always told me, since the day I was brought back home, that I shouldn't have 'emotions' or 'feelings'." Sherlock was now annoyed with the amount of information Mycroft was telling him. "Anything else I should know about, Mycroft?" Sherlock rose again.

"Your first day at Boarding School. That was a BEALTER. In between this and your First School it is mostly Anderson bullying you and Molly helping you with your experiments. Oh and Father beating you. You were in hospital a few times after that..." Sherlock's eyes squinted at his brother. He didn't understand how he could be so blunt about HIS childhood.

"Did he beat me everyday, Mycroft? Did you not stop it?" Mycroft's eyes widened and looked at his brother.

"Yes he did Sherlock, but that is none of your concern until later on..." Sherlock's fists were slammed against the table, making his coffee almost fly from where it sat.

"What!? None of my concern. This was _MY_ life, Mycroft, not yours!" Sherlock replaced his body to wear he sat before.


	3. 11 years old

_**Hello once again. I'm glad that people are reading an enjoying this. I actually enjoyed writing it. It helped me to understand what others go through and... Yeah, it just helped. Warnings: There is a lot of self harm in this chapter and also mentions of rape... It's not describing the rape, it's simply saying about it. Sorry. I hope you like this chapter, you start to see how everything affects him over time. Thank you for reading and enjoy.**_

_**Chapter 3**_

_**Boarding School- Aged 11**_

"_English?"_

"_Boring!"_

"_Mathematics?"_

"_Boring!"_

"_Chemistry?"_

"_Ah. Now that is something to look forward to." Sherlock had found his new dorm, and also his new dorm mate inside. His name was Alex Sheppard. Sherlock had started their 'friendship' by insulting how overly attached Alex was to his teddy-bear. But then he realised that it was the PERFECT place to hide his drugs and cigarettes. He could smell both cocaine and heroin on Alex's new blazer, along with smoke. He could tell that his parents were soon to be divorced by the way that Alex always imitated a wedding ring being taken off of his finger. _

"_Very clever." Alex smiled at Sherlock, watching Sherlock's expression turned to a very obvious 'unimpressed' expression. "Cigarette?" Alex smirked towards the boy opposite him. Sherlock had literally pounced upon the cigarettes. Nobody knew about his smoking habits, but it started during a self-harm attempt last year. After experimenting with the cigarette pressing against his wrist. He didn't much enjoy that, but liked the smell of the smoke coming off from it. An hour later, and Sherlock had finished a whole pack of cigarettes. _

_Sherlock puffed out the smoke that he'd held in his lungs for a minute or so. Being only 11, he hadn't done many interesting things. His experiments at home were his life. But now he had been dragged into a poxy Boarding School, and he wasn't excited._

'_Mycroft. Why do I have to attend this place? I should be at least year 9. -SH'_

_'Sherlock, just please give it a chance. -MH'_

_'Easy for you to say. You're the family favourite. -SH'_

_'You really are a little brat, you know. If you continue to smoke those cigarettes I will be having words with mummy. -MH'_

_'Piss off Mycroft. Leave me to my own business. -SH'_

_Sherlock sent one last message to his brother. Mycroft was bad enough at home. Always telling their parents about his 'dangerous' experiments. And what would Sherlock get?_

* "Sherlock Holmes, get your arse down here right NOW!" Those 9 words were swiftly followed by a right-hook around the jaw. Then he tripped Sherlock up by kicking the back of his knee. Smacking the back of his neck, his Father held him down and kicked right into Sherlock's groin. Sherlock never made a sound. He simply took what was coming to him. He'd got used to it now... *

"_Do you ever get lonely? Being a 'freak' and all." It'd been 4 months and even Alex had turned against Sherlock. "Seriously, that deduction thing that you do is starting to scare me..." Alex started coughing._

_"Alex. Alex. Alex. Never let your room mate know where your cigarettes are." Alex looked puzzled at Sherlock. "You never know what I can slip into them." Alex continued to cough. He started to fit violently, and eventually landed in a pile on the floor. Sherlock picked up his violin and started to compose. He decided on something about his drug addiction. He knew he had one, but admitting it was the tough part. He'd started playing the violin when he was five. At first only screeches managed to tumble out of the strings, but after much practice, Sherlock was happy with playing this instrument._

_After an hour or so, there was a knock on the door. It wasn't three knocks so it could not be a teacher. If it was Anderson it would be only the one knock. Sherlock, even though he tried, could not work out who was standing outside of his dorm. He yelled several times for the person to go away, however their knocking continued. He had forgotten that Alex had passed out upon the floor. It had to be Sherlock that answered the door. "Fine." He stomped loudly towards the door, slamming it against the wall as it opened. "What do you... Molly." Before him stood a newly dressed Molly. Her hair hadn't changed colour, however she decided on a right hand plait instead of her old ponytail. She was much taller now, however he still towered over her. He remembered the day when she had left their First School. It was a day in year 4. Her Father had important business to attend to in America. "You left on the first available flight..." Molly blushed._

_"I wrote." Her head drooped, she knew that she'd hurt him, but she wanted to pass it over. "How can I, you know, make it up to you?"_

_"How's your dad?" Molly's eyes now started to fill with tears. Sherlock had no clue with what she was crying over, but it had to be something important about her father. "What's wrong?" Even though he'd been great 'friends' with her in their childhood, he didn't know what to do now. "Molly." Her whole body collapsed. She fell to the floor in one big muddle. He eyes leaking like a fountain as she clutched her body tightly. Sherlock could see the pain that she was feeling as her arms got tighter and tighter around her stomach. He slowly edged towards her, wrapping his arms around her. One around her scrunched up body, and one around her head, pulling it closer to him. With each tear the fell from her hazel eyes, his grasp got tighter. Molly's hand slowly gripped onto his arm. She didn't want him to let go. She felt his beating heart press against her ear and his lungs were breathing heavily. It was clear to Molly that Sherlock didn't want to show that he cared, but it was hard for him._

_"She-Sherlock..." At first the words struggled to leave her mouth. But she eventually found comfort in Sherlock's heart beat, as it guided her through her speech. "My father... He..." It took a few seconds to catch her breath, "Raped me..." Sherlock's head jerked towards hers. He pushed her away a bit so that he could see her emotionally broken face._

_"Molly... I..."_

_"It's okay, Sherlock. You don't have to say anything." Molly started to wipe the tears away from her cheeks. As she rose from her mess Sherlock grabbed her arm._

_"I..." He paused before finishing, "I've never cared for much." Molly half-heartedly chuckled at him. "But you... Why didn't you tell me?" He pulled her face towards his, making sure that Molly looked right into his eyes._

_"I was in America. You were here." She shrugged at him. "What was I supposed to do?" She said, shaking her head slightly at him. Sherlock let out only a small whimper, but Molly heard. Sherlock pulled her in to himself. His heat was incising and powerful as his arms protected her from the World around them. Her stare was at the floor. She looked at his violin and the strings that had just been snapped, due to his frustration at her knocking. "He's dead now." Molly whispered, breaking the silence between them. Sherlock's eyes closed delicately. He could feel Molly's breathing change next to his chest as she started to explain. "My mum found out, and they... Sentenced him to death. I was there. I watched him swing, and somehow; it didn't make me feel any better." Molly sighed slightly, telling Sherlock that he needed to say something about her father to make her happier. He couldn't say anything, his mind still trying to digest her past few years. "We would still be there now, if it wasn't for the bullies..." Sherlock hummed at first, thinking about everything else she had said previously, when he realised what she'd just remarked. _

"_Bullies? They bullied you?" From deep inside his eyes, Molly could see tears forming. She knew that he tried not to care, but for some reason, she was different. _

_She sighed at him and then let out a small, "Yes." in response. He was trying to hold back his deductions from her, even though he cold see small fresh cuts peering out of Molly's sleeve._

_"Molly. Self harm is not the answer!" He pushed her away again. "Please, don't do it any more..." Molly's eyes started to leak. All of her truths had been told, and now she had nothing left to hide. Her head drooped again in sorrow._

_"I'm sorry Sherlock..." Molly sniffed, trying to clear the tears on her cheeks away with her palms. "I'll see you in class I suppose..." Molly then left, her hands were pulling her cardigan arms down so tight that it nearly fell from her shoulders. Picking up her bag, she turned back to Sherlock, smiled and walked away and down the stairs. Sherlock stood for hours staring at the door-way. How could Molly be here? How could her past be so terrible to his ears. _

"She wrote to you, but you never wrote back?" Mycroft now sounded as if he was pinning the blame for Molly's rape on Sherlock. Sherlock however, didn't stir from his place. "Well. What did you do the next day? I know you remember now." Mycroft smirked continually at his brother, he knew that Sherlock was trying not to remember the truth.

_The next morning, Sherlock sat in his room searching for Molly's old letters. She'd write once a week or so, and always send him birthday cards. She always finished the letters off with two kisses and a smiley face. Underneath his pillow, were 12 different letters and cards. Each and everyone contained something from Molly, or her parents when she was too ill to write. He could see how her writing changed over the years to something much more like his. After looking through those 12 letters, he spotted small traces of blood that had rubbed against the page in later sent ones. He could see the tear stains from where Molly had cried during writing them. The next few hours he spent looking for the others; he never left them at home in case his Mother or Father found them. He didn't want them snooping into his private conversations with Molly. Even though she tried her best to stay in touch with her friend who she'd saved from Anderson sending into a coma on the playground, he never wrote back to her. He didn't see the point. Oh how he was wrong._

(**At break) **

_Sherlock had found Molly in the crowd of people that queued for a drink at break. He pulled her away and told her to meet him in his dorm room after lessons had finished. "It's urgent."  
_

"_Tell me now then." Molly scowled as she pulled down her sleeve even tighter than yesterday._

"_Molly? You haven't..." Sherlock grabbed Molly's arm and pulled up her sleeve, right to the elbow. All the way up her forearm were red and half-bleeding cuts. Molly bit her bottom lip, watching as she knew Sherlock would shout at her. Although Sherlock wanted to, he couldn't bring himself to talking about her pains, at the moment. Instead he walked past her, their shoulders brushing. He placed his hands firmly into his pockets and sulked away. _

_**(After lessons)**_

_Lessons had now finished. Molly padded slowly up the stairs towards Sherlock's dorm. She could hear his violin playing out through the window, when she stood outside. Now he was smacking both his fist and his foot against the wall. She could hear his breathing so clearly, it was as though he had asthma and had forgotten his pump. When she knocked loudly on the door, the banging didn't stop immediately. It continued for several minutes until finally Molly slumped herself down the door to the floor. "Sherlock... Please." Her voice started to whine, not a guilty whine. Simply one that signified her suffering on the inside. "Sherlock. Come on." A few steps later, and Sherlock had opened the door and pulled her up. _

_She studied him, from top to bottom. His knuckles were red with the blood leaking from them. His hands were also covered in red sticky liquid, but this was from his wrists. Molly could see the broken glass from Alex's old mirror laying smashed on the ground. He clutched the piece in his hand tightly as it cut straight through his skin. He didn't stop harming himself even when he knew she was there. His eye was black, his nose bled, and his lip was cut. It was obvious to her that he had taken a beating from Anderson an hour or so before she'd arrived. His shirt was open revealing scars and cuts all over his chest and ribs. Seven scars were left from broken ribs piercing through his chest, Molly could see that. There were fresh and purple bruises all over his face, arms and chest; so Anderson and his friends gave him a real beating. On his neck there were circular burn marks, which looked to her as though he'd been burnt with cigarettes. Was it himself or Anderson that did that, Molly was unsure. On both of Sherlock's hands there were cuts, which hadn't been there when she'd spoken to him last night, from the game 'Five Finger Fillet'. Somehow Molly knew that he was purposely aiming for his fingers; not to chop them off, but to slice them at least. He had been both beaten and self harmed. "Why?" Molly asked him as she stood clutching her chest. "You told m-me not to." She swallowed hard trying not to look too much at the half-dead boy that stood so silently in front of her._

_Molly turned to leave and let him continue with what he was doing, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her in tightly to him. This was the first time Molly actually saw Sherlock cry over something. His eyes were red like the blood on his hands and were filled heavily with water. Every few seconds a small tear crept its way down the side of his face. She could hear every single one as the splash landed on the floor. He really was broken. Slowly she pulled him down to the floor, holding his hands, even through the blood.  
_

_After a few minutes of both of them sitting, crying and hugging each others pain, Sherlock finally managed to whisper, "I can't go on, Molly. My life is worth nothing..." His eyes were painful, stinging like nothing he'd ever experienced. His heart was gasping for air as it beat repeatedly fast. His lungs needed to take a break because his breathing was so loud and disorganised. At 12 years old, Sherlock had never been beaten harder by anyone, including his father, then he was today. _

_* _Anderson and his friends has spotted Sherlock walking to his next Chemistry lesson, whilst picking leaves of the ever-growing bushes that sat next to the path. They grabbed Sherlock by the shoulders and arms and held him into Anderson's punches. It was like all those years ago, on their first day of school all over again. The memories of that day flooded back to Sherlock. Along with his father's beatings. They increased every week, each time becoming harder and harder for Sherlock to contain the tears. This time, Sherlock only felt every single kick and punch that was thrown into him. He could cope... For now anyway. At that moment Sherlock shouted, "Go on then Anderson... Do it! KILL ME..." Anderson and his friends looked down upon Sherlock as he scrambled to get himself up. "Kill me... There's nothing left for me here." Sherlock remarked as he wiped the blood that left his nose. Anderson didn't keep going, he wanted to see Sherlock suffer more than he knew about. Both Anderson and his friends walked away quickly, leaving Sherlock on the path. His blood spat onto the pavement in lumps from his nose. Sherlock wanted it to end. He wanted everything to end. Nothing was worth anything any more. It was his time to go._ *_

"_Why...?" Molly repeated, not noticing that Sherlock had just had a flashback of the previous hour of his life. He sat Molly down on the bed after a few more moments of cuddling, and started to explain. _

_After telling her about Anderson and the feelings that he's been trying to hide for so long, he told her something he didn't think he could say. "I couldn't end it... After all of the cutting and the burns, I couldn't bring myself to end it..." He half smiled into his hands and chuckled slightly. Molly folded her hand into his and pulled it close to her, studying the marks upon his wrists. _

"_You really took chunks out. Chunks that can never be replaced, by mind or by person." She then sighed into his hand, and then let go. "What did you want to talk to me about?" Molly then sniffed. _

"_About you. How are you?" Sherlock didn't plan on saying that in any situation. Instead he forgot the words that this situation was supposed to result in him saying, and said the first thing that popped into his mind. _

"_I'm fine. My stomach hurts a bit, but apart from that I'm perfectly fine." Molly then chuckled and looked up to the boy who was even more broken than her. She knew that she was psychologically worse than him. But in physical state, Sherlock suffered far greater pain; even if he didn't show it. "How are yo-your. How is your mind?" Molly didn't want to ask him about his health, considering she could see everything that he's done to himself. _

"_I'm pretty good Molly. The pain isn't that hard to control. You could have just asked that.." He lifted her face up with his hands. "I'm sorry I never wrote back." Molly's eyes started to fill with tears, she thought that they'd have gotten lost in the mail._

_"What... You didn't even... I should have known." As Molly stood up to leave his dorm, Sherlock pulled her back in for a hug. He gripped tighter and tighter around her neck until he almost strangled her. Molly placed her hands delicately around his waist, feeling every single rib inside of him and she scrunched tighter and tighter from his on-growing grip. She placed a small and sweet kiss onto his cheek, and then moved away._

"So. She meant a lot to you when you were younger, and all you did was push her away in the moments that she needed you most?"

"Shut up Mycroft. I only did what you taught me to do with my feelings..." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I don't tell you to cut yourself until your near death, Sherlock. That was your own torture, something which _YOU_ decided."

_**So there it is. Chapter 3 and Molly has arrived. I really like Molly as a character and I think that because she's so normal, she must have had a troubled past, so here is my view on that. Again, thank you for reading and please review! :)**_


	4. 14 years old

_**There are no warnings in this chapter. I believe that it's fluffy, well, for a small part of it any way. This is where Molly and Sherlock's relationship really blossoms. I hope that you enjoy it! This one is shorter than the others.**_

_**Chapter 4**_

_**14-years-Old**_

"_Are... Are you sure your actually okay, Sherlock?" Molly asked wearily as she helped him up. She knew that he wouldn't appreciate her help, but it was worth a try._

_"I'm fine, Molly." He pushed her away, after yet another beating form Anderson and 'friends'. "Why can't you understand that?" He snapped at her, wanting her to leave him alone. "I'm sorry... It's just; it's the third one this week. You know how grumpy I get with the beating." He patted Molly's shoulder now, for some reason she was different from other people. He cared for her, although he didn't want to admit it to anyone, let alone Molly._

_"It's okay Sherlock, I know how you get..." Molly huffed and stood up from the wall on which she was leant against. "I guess I better be going." And with that, Molly left Sherlock to his everyday arrangement of lessons._

_"Bye..." Sherlock whispered after her._

_**(3 hours later)**_

_'How are you doing Sherlock? -Molly'_

_'How do you think? I was beaten up... AGAIN. -SH'_

_'Sorry I asked. :( -Molly'_

_'No. I'm sorry. Do you want to share my popcorn? -SH'_

_'You're eating? That's a first! ;) -Molly'_

_'Don't try humour Molly... Actually.  
Come up and we'll talk. -SH'_

_'Okay? I'll bring my secret stash of chocolate buttons. :) -Molly'_

_Molly walked straight upstairs to Sherlock's dorm. Previously that afternoon, she'd painted her nails. They were black, but they helped to not show the scars on her arms. With her delicate hands, Molly knocked on the door hoping that he'd allow her just to walk in. "Ah. Molly." He said to her, pulling her in. "We need to talk about... Our friendship." Sherlock sat down on his bed and tilted his head for Molly to sit next to him._

_"Well." Molly interrupted as the silence crawled back. Sherlock turned towards her and leant in to her face. Pressing his lips against hers, he grabbed her neck with his hand. At first Molly didn't know what to do, but as he remained with his lips pressed against hers, she started to feel the warmth the came from him. Sherlock pulled her closer, until he allowed Molly to pull away. "Why?" He smiled at her and then answered only in a whisper._

"_You've helped me through everything. Stopped me from smoking. Helped me when I needed you most... Which I wasn't, for you." His head fell to his chest, and his hands placed themselves over his face. Molly wrapped her hands around his scrunched up top-half and placed her head onto his shoulder. Sherlock had finally found someone who would listen to him._

"Ah. Yes. Your first kiss with the only girl you have ever been with. Now you treat her like absolute shit, with no thoughts about her feelings." Sherlock only gave Mycroft evils, he didn't see the point in arguing.

"_So, freak. What are we going to do now?" Molly frequently called Sherlock freak, however her meaning for 'freak' was different to everyone else's. She called him that through pure love for everything that he does. She called him 'freak' to give him a sense of her hating him, and she knew that he loved not being liked. She could always see straight through his false faces to everyone else, and she knew what made him tick. She was the one who saved him from Anderson's bullying back when they were all 4, and she would never let Sherlock forget that. "Can you compose something on the violin for me?" Molly exclaimed as she rested her ever drooping head onto Sherlock's shoulder. _

_'Cover your nose and mouth. -MH'_

_Sherlock did as he was told allowing Molly to fall into a deep sleep. His brother waltzed into the room, umbrella in hand and dotted handkerchief over his mouth. A deep and dark misty fog had been sprayed across the room, but now it was disappearing. "Molly, I presume." Mycroft said to Sherlock pointing at Molly's body lying on the bed. "What have I told you about feelings, Sherlock?" Sherlock simply rolled his eyes and picked up his violin. He didn't enjoy listening to his brother's rants any more; even if he could deal with it when he was younger. _

"_What do you want Mycroft?" Sherlock started to play his violin, making sure that it screeched as it played._

"_She-Sher-SHERLOCK!" Mycroft grabbed the violin from Sherlock's hand and threw it onto the bed, forgetting that Molly still lay there.  
_

"_Careful.." Sherlock replied to Mycroft putting his hand over his eyes. "You hit her." Sherlock sighed, closing his eyes and placing his hands into his trouser pockets. "What do want? To hit Molly with my violin by the looks of things." Mycroft now leant on his umbrella._

_"Stop moaning Sherlock. You always were a little child. I only came to bring you this..." He pushed a box towards Sherlock with the tip of his umbrella. "A little gift for your birthday. Sorry I didn't call." Mycroft smirked at his brother, knowing he hated calls of any kind._

"_You know how it is. I prefer to text. Doesn't show as many emotions as a call." Sherlock smiled sarcastically back at his brother who's eyes were squinted at his remark. "What is it?" He asked, kicking the box with his foot."A coat...?" He sighed. _

"_Open it up, and just take a look." Mycroft nodded towards the box, telling Sherlock to open it both verbally and mentally. _

"_Fine." Sherlock exclaimed grabbing Mycroft's knife, which he apparently used for 'protection'. "Ugh." Sherlock wrapped the new coat around his shoulders, lifting the collar up to his cheek bones and tightening the buttons. He hummed, admiring himself in his new coat. Mycroft nodded again towards the box. Sherlock leant over and peered into the box. Inside was an envelope. "Money...? You know I don't like taking your money, Mycroft." Mycroft smiled. "I have plenty of my own." _

"_Which you spend on cigarettes and drugs, Sherlock. Yes, I know. It's not that hard to deduce. Or in your words, 'deduct'." Mycroft had a half smile on his face. "This is for you to buy a skull or something..."_

_"Could you get me one?" Sherlock's head tilted, Mycroft had finally caught his attention. "Bart's Morgue would be a good place to look."_

"_That will cost you one thousand pounds, Sherlock. You only have five thousand you know." Sherlock sighed at turned his head away. How could his brother be this dumb?_

"_I don't care what it'll cost, Mycroft. Just get me one." Sherlock danced as he finished with, "I could talk to it about all of my 'problems." All he received from Mycroft was a tut. He enjoyed it. Then his brother left without saying another word. "Are you okay? I hope it didn't hit you too hard..." Molly sat up and looked at Sherlock, rubbing her head._

"_Not too much, no." Molly replied rubbing her hair down from it's frizzy position. "That coat really suits you." She paused and then looked towards the door. "I know exactly what will go with this!" She jumped away from him and out of the door._

"_Molly?" Sherlock was left alone in his room. He didn't follow her, it was always hard to know where Molly was going. After a few minutes Molly returned, hands behind her back and clutching something. "Molly... You know I hate surprises." Sherlock joked as she walked towards him._

"_I thought that this might go well..." From behind her, Molly pulled out a medium sized brown parcel. Sherlock couldn't deduct what was inside the parcel when he held it, but if it was from Molly, he would probably use it. He tore open the brown and stopped when he could see the item inside. He sat in silence staring into it for a few moments, and then he looked up at Molly. She sighed through disappointment. He stood up and grabbed her around the waist, lifting her into the air. Her arms placed themselves around his neck and his head buried into her hair._

_"Thank you" Were the only words Sherlock said to Molly for the rest of the night. Apart from when she left, he managed to spit out a simple 'Goodnight' and an affectionate kiss. As soon as she'd gone, he replaced the coat on his shoulders, this time with something extra. Wrapped tightly around his neck was a scarf the colour of early night. It glittered when light touched it and it helped Sherlock's eyes twinkle that little bit brighter. In Sherlock's mind, he knew that the three of them would be great accomplices over the years. He could feel it._

_**There you go. Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed it; please review! It helps a lot! :) See you tomorrow!**_


	5. 16 years old

_**Warning: Suicide attempt... Sorry, I just thought that it would be an important part of Sherlock's life. Whoops. Any way, I hope that you like this either way. It would be great if you did because I enjoyed writing it. And this basically tells you everything that Mycroft has been doing over Sherlock's life. Enjoy. :)**_

_**Chapter 5**_

_**16-Years-Old**_

"Do you remember your 16th birthday?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, somehow knowing that the birthday he remembered was probably wrong.

"Of course I do. What do you take me for, Mycroft?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow at his brother, he knew the truth behind what he was about to tell Sherlock, and his attitude was displaying a very childish kind of want.

"Well. Something happened to you during that day and your 17th birthday."

"More of Father beating me? Interesting... Give me a specific day? Was it an interesting day, Mycroft?"

"It was your prom night..."

_**Breaking News!**_

_**The son of the famous Mr and Mrs Holmes, was found today at his school after an attempt to take his own life. Sherlock Holmes, aged 16, was found by his girlfriend Molly Hooper, 16, after what she called; a "disastrous prom night". Holmes had taken Hooper to the prom, apparently knowing that he wasn't welcome. Anderson, 16, had targeted him with his friends, 15-16 years of age, and pulled both Holmes and Hooper apart whilst they danced to 'A Thousand Years' by Christina Perri. Anderson and his friends dragged both Holmes and Hooper out of the building. Outside they held Hooper's head in place so that she could "watch the life and soul of the party". Hooper could not look away from her boyfriend being beaten by the other boys, but managed to tear away from their grasp in an attempt to help him. During her attempt, Anderson 'accidentally' punched Hooper round her left cheek; pushing her into Holmes. Hooper then told reporters that they continued to hold her back, trying to throw a few punches at her, but she didn't show any remorse nor pain towards the boys. Holmes was also beaten senselessly until he found it increasingly harder to breath. At that point, Hooper states that the boys all left to return to the prom. Hooper then told us that she ran to get help for Holmes, not realising that he could get up and walk. According to her, when she returned with a member of staff, not wanting to be mentioned, Holmes was nowhere to be seen. Apparently Hooper then went looking for Holmes around the school. Meanwhile, she made this call to an ambulance service: "Ambulance please. Both my boyfriend and I... We've... Been attacked. I don't know what state he's in, but I know that he received harder and more frequent punches than I did. Please hurry!" During this time, police presume that Holmes had made his way to his dorm and placed his tie around his neck. "It was clear that he had been planning suicide for some time considering the marks all over his body and wrists looked like self harm marks. We also found a note to Miss Hooper that she wishes to keep private." Hooper stated that she arrived at his dorm room just as he had left the stool. "It still rocked..." She tried to untie the knot, without success. She knew how good Holmes was at tying knots so tried a different approach. Using a knife that Holmes kept in his room, she cut the tie from around his neck and caught him, before lowering him to the floor. Hooper says, "I checked immediately for signs of life. It occurred to me that he had only just left the stool, but I remained in the doorway mind-blown about the event that was happening right before me. I felt so helpless." Hooper then had to be taken to hospital, alongside Holmes, due to physical, mental and emotional distress. No more comments from her were taken. **_

_**Holmes now remains in a critical, but stable condition in St. Bart's Hospital. His family have not visited him claiming that, "He means nothing to us. If he had killed himself successfully, I'm sure that the whole family would be relieved of a burden on our name." -Mr Holmes, 45. **_

_**Mycroft Holmes, aged 23, is the only member of the Holmes family to visit his younger brother alongside Miss hooper whom is covered in stitches and bandages herself, after her beating. **_

_**Anderson and his 'gang' have been taken in for questioning about Holmes' suicide attempt. A charge could be made, however Hooper has stated that a charge is not necessary. **_

_**According to Mycroft Holmes, "This is is a result of bullying from two parties. The boys at my brother's Boarding School. But also, my family, including myself are to blame for what Sherlock tried to do."**_

**_No further comments will be taken from the Holmes boys nor Hooper, until Holmes awakes and is ready to leave the hospital._**  
**_For more information or a link on how to stop bullying like this, please visit our website._**

"_What do you think? You got a whole page about you in the biggest newspaper in London." Molly tried to remain cheerful for Sherlock's recovery, but it was obvious to, not only to everyone else, but to herself that she was finding it very hard. It had been two weeks since the prom, however Molly rarely moved from Sherlock's side. All she wanted now was to see his icy-blue eyes look at her and remember what they'd built together. "Come on Sherlock. Wake up." Molly paused. "Please..." Molly drifted back into another sleep, her body lying across Sherlock's. _

"..." Sherlock couldn't find anything to say. He was starting to find it easier and easier to understand why Mycroft had made him forget about all of this stuff.

"I'm sorry Sherlock." Sherlock's head and stare remained at his hands that were clasped together.

_A few hours after Molly had fallen asleep, a shudder down her spine awoke her. She looked around the room and noticed a tall figure standing in front of the window. He lent on his umbrella strongly. "How is he doing? Well I presume." _

"_Mycroft. He's in a coma... Of course he's not okay!" She turned to Sherlock as he lie frail in his bed. To her, he'd never looked paler. She clutched his hand tightly, willing for him to wake up, but there was no response. _

"_They asked me to tell you... That they're going to turn the machine off on Tuesday." A look of disgust spread itself across Molly's face. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. _

"_What!? You're going to allow that? Your own brother. You're not even putting up a fight for him?" Mycroft chuckled and then turned towards Molly, who was still clutching his brother. _

"_I advised it. You'll be much better if he's gone, Molly. A lot of people will!" Molly could feel Sherlock's fingers close around hers. She didn't flinch nor notice, she thought that it was her own grip tightening. She was holding on tighter to what she was going to lose. She didn't want to lose him and Sherlock didn't want to lose her. He was listening to Mycroft's words as if they were a beacon reaching out to him through voice and hatred. The hatred that he had inside for Mycroft overwhelmed any love that he had for Molly, or anyone else. That hatred was pulling him back. He didn't stir though, he needed the element of surprise. "He's just a sociopath, Molly. And a high functioning one at that." Sherlock let out a deep breath. People had called him a sociopath for a year or so now, so that didn't surprise him. But he didn't expect Mycroft to stoop so low as to call him that. He quite enjoyed it. _

"_Of course I am Mycroft." Sherlock sat up in his bed and turned towards Molly. He mouthed a small 'sorry' towards her and then turned to the more pressing matter at hand. His brother. "Really Mycroft? I didn't expect you to call me that until my glory days!" _

_Mycroft smirked at Sherlock. "What is it you want to be in your 'glory days'? A detective something, wasn't it?" Mycroft lowed his head slightly at him.  
_

_Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed. He didn't blame Mycroft for forgetting the name, considering Sherlock himself had invented the job. "Consulting Detective." He folded his arms and tilted his head towards Mycroft.  
_

"_Oh yes. A 'Consulting Detective'... The one job in the World, that doesn't, and will never exist" Mycroft paused and moved towards his brother, lifting his umbrella. "I see the cuts on your wrist have returned. I thought I warned you..."_

_Sherlock interrupted his brother, "I know you did. That doesn't mean I have to follow your warning, Mycroft." _

_Molly remained seated next to the empty bed. She was both bemused and relieved at Sherlock's re-awakening. "Excuse me." Both the Holmes brother's turned towards Molly. "Sorry." Sherlock smiled at Molly. She was courageous to stop his conversation with the biggest Queen on the planet, and she did it well. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I must interrupt your... Um... 'Little' squabble. Sherlock?" Sherlock joined her by her side and hooped his arm. "Of course." She took his arm willingly and allowed him to lead her away from the room._

_"I'm glad you're awake now." Molly smiled at Sherlock as they walked through the hospital._

"_I'm sorry Molly. I thought I was dead. Hearing your voice, I thought that you were dead also, so I ignored it. But I know that Mycroft isn't dead so using his voice was simple." Sherlock turned his head away. He only hoped that Molly wouldn't take it too badly. "Are you okay?" He finally said. _

"_A few cuts here and there. Nothing out of the ordinary... Much like you, Sherlock." Sherlock's head drooped and then jerked towards her. _

"_What?"  
_

"_Do you remember earlier when I read the newspaper article to you? No. Well, the police said it was obvious that you were going to commit suicide, Sherlock." Molly stopped where she stood. "They knew about the cuts." She turned towards him, raising her eyebrows. "They've put both you and I on a program. We have to go to rehab and get our lives 'back on track' apparently..." For the last few words, Molly changed her voice._

_"Who said that to you?"_

_Molly paused for a few moments, while her eyes filled with tears. "A psychiatrist." Molly sighed trying to hold back the tears in her eyes. "We start on Monday." She walked on. "What do you expect?" Sherlock looked at her curiously. "You tried to kill yourself, Sherlock... I was worried, and planning to do it myself."_

_"It was an experiment Molly. I knew you'd find me. I was wondering how long it would take you." Sherlock lied._

"_And in doing so I could have died, for real.." Now the tears were falling. They bounced on the ground or into her hands. She could feel every care she had for Sherlock fall from her eyes one by one. _

"_Molly... I..." She walked away from him, into a room. On the door was her name; this was Molly's room. After entering it, Molly slammed the door in Sherlock's face. "Molly. Please." Sherlock pleaded at the door. _

"_I can't, Sherlock. I just... can't." After she spoke, the room went quiet. Molly was still alive, but she didn't want to talk to him any more. Sherlock waited a few minutes and then walked back drearily to his own room. This time there was no Mycroft to be seen. Only a note lying on his bed. The note was written on dark and old looking paper. The pen's ink was a blood coloured red ink and the writing, to Sherlock, was recognisable. _

_'Dear Sherlock,_

_By the time you read this I would have returned to the Government. You should know that I was the one to suggest both yourself and Miss Hooper being placed under surveillance. I saw the marks on your arms the last time you were at the house for Christmas. When I read the letter about her father, that Miss Hooper had written to you many years ago, I knew that she could possibly be doing exactly the same thing. You deserve her Sherlock, but your feelings led you to this point. I'm going to make Miss Hooper forget this. I hope you see that this is the better way. She doesn't deserve this pain. You, I know, can manage it._

_Mycroft.'_

"_Mycroft..." He dropped the letter onto the bed and ran to Molly's room. He knocked and knocked. There was no answer from her. Eventually Sherlock used a hair-pin he'd taken from her earlier and opened the door. Inside Molly lay on her bed, knocked out. An oxygen mask was strapped tightly onto her mouth, and her face was pale. Sherlock sped towards her and stroked her cheek. "Molly?" Her eyes opened quickly. Her breathing got heavier as she looked straight towards him._

_"Who are you?" She cried under the mask._

"_It's me, Molly. It's Sherlock." Molly continued to breath heavily, her hand started to reach for the 'Panic Button' that hung next to her head. "No!" Sherlock shouted as her fingers crawled their way to the button. Two strong and heavy men stomped into the room. The grabbed Sherlock by the arms and pulled him away. Molly returned to her passed out condition, she'd have no record of this when she awoke. _

_The two men dragged Sherlock back into his own room and strapped him down onto the bed. All the struggle that Sherlock put up against them didn't help. His arms were strapped down to his side. His feet restrained. A tall blonde woman cruised into the room and stood at the end of the bed. "Unhappily married, eh? So now you torture teenagers!" Sherlock yelled at her. He could see from her wedding ring that she was unhappily married considering the state it was in. _

"_Put ze mask on 'im." The woman was French and had an evil look in her emerald green eyes. _

"_No...NO!" Sherlock struggled with all of his might, but however hard he tried he couldn't break free. One of the men, the taller of the two climbed over Sherlock's body to reach the mask. He secured it tightly onto Sherlock's face and hit the switch that hung next to it. However hard Sherlock tried to stay awake, his eyelids became heavy. He slowly drifted into a cold and lonely sleep. Never to be his true self again. _

"So..." Sherlock started.

"So I made the cleverest boy of 16 forget every ounce of care and feelings that he had towards Molly Hooper. I made him forget the nightmares that he had every night of her coming to him and stabbing him in the throat. I made him the man he is today. Cold. Broken. And worthy of the intelligence that he has." Sherlock's face was blank. He wanted to feel some sort of emotion but in this version of him, it was impossible. "You'll forget all of this soon enough any way..." Sherlock's head leant down towards his coffee. "5 sugars. You took 5 sugars and mixed them into your coffee." Sherlock's breathing started to deepen; he could feel his lungs closing in on him.

"What... Did... You... Do?" His words were slurring and his body was shaking.

"I'm helping you to forget, Sherlock. John is on his way. See" Mycroft held up Sherlock's phone. "I sent him, 'Help John. Brother in urgent need of assistance. Come quickly. -MH'. Oh and here he is now. Must dash." And with that, Mycroft made his escape leaving Sherlock to spread his body along the coffee table like a rag doll.

"My..." Sherlock passed out across the table. John hurried towards him and held him up by his shoulders.

"Come on Sherlock." He said, hauling the body out of the shop and up the stairs to 221B. Sherlock had forgotten once again about the true past that he had lived.

_**I hope you enjoyed it. Typical Mycroft, eh. I really enjoyed writing this piece actually. Thank you for reading and following and favouriting... That's not even a word, oh well! :)**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Sorry. This is very short. I'll post the last chapter as well. Enjoy! :)**_

_**Chapter 6**_

_**Deja NO Vu**_

"John...?" Sherlock said as his eyes started to open.

"Very clever." John punched Sherlock's arm.

"Ow. What was that for?" Sherlock seemed to wake up quite quickly considering he'd just been passed out.

"Being an incompetent idiot!" John turned towards him as Sherlock started to sit up straight on the sofa. After maintaining eye contact for a few moments, both of the men laughed. Their laughs could be heard from the cafe downstairs.

"So you knew then?"

"I knew what? That you called me and then made me listen to your brother drag on about how fucked up your childhood was... No offence." Sherlock chuckled.

"I'm surprised you don't think that I might not remember any of this. Well done."

"It's pretty obvious, Sherlock." John folded his arms.

"How did you know?" Sherlock placed his fingers under his chin, intrigued with how John knew.

"You took 5 packs of 'Pass-out Sugar' with you on your way out. That's a bit suspicious. And when you mentioned Mycroft, I knew something was up!" John held his hands in the air, near to his chest.

"I knew that Mycroft was planning to tell me something and then take it all away again. How typical of him. My brother gets more and more predictable everyday. I knew he would eventually."

"How did you know that he had put it in the sugar though?" John questioned as he leant against the armchair.

"Oh my dear John. I saw him change the sugar sachets at the top of the box. He knew nobody else was in the queue for coffee, so I was going to get that sugar. On the actual sachets there were small tear marks, invisible to the normal eye. However, my eyes are super sensitive. So..."

"So you can see extra details. Well that explains a lot." John interrupted.

"Stop talking. You're putting me off."

"Sorry."

"So I simply reached into my pockets and switched the sugar sachets. It wasn't hard. My brother wasn't even looking." John smirked and let out a small chuckle.

"So, you took the 'Pass-Out Sugar' to make the whole situation more convincing?" John questioned.

"Of course. I need this information, John. I've seen the marks, I'm not an idiot." Sherlock's tone became more aggressive.

"I never said you were..." John said standing from the chair. He walked towards the kettle. "Never mind. Are you going to tell Molly?" Sherlock didn't answer. "Sherlock?" John walked into the living room. "Sherlock?" He repeated. Sherlock's coat and scarf had gone, along with Sherlock. "Tea for one then..."


	7. Chapter 7

_**This is the last chapter. Thank you so much for following and reading. I hope that it hasn't been too depressing for you... :/ I hope you enjoy this chapter and I hope isn't too crappy an ending. Thank you.**_

_**Chapter 7**_

"_**I'm sorry Molly..."**_

Molly was finishing her work at the morgue at 17:00. She'd just cleaned up after an autopsy on a man who had passed away recently. Her conclusion was that he had chronic heart disease. Her hair was tied back its normal way and it swung as she turned. She didn't hear Sherlock when he first entered. But a small knock on the fridge door and she was alerted. "Oh Sherlock." She said as she jumped. She didn't turn though.

"What's wrong, Molly? You're normally so chipper." Sherlock stood behind her, hands in his pockets, watching every movement she made. Why was she trying not to look at him?

"Oh am I now?" Sherlock's eyes squinted at Molly's response.

"What's happened? I presume Mycroft has been to see you?" His head lowered and his lips curled together.

"Yes." Was her simple reply.

"Do you remember now?"

"Of course I do." She yelled. Now she turned towards him. Her eyes were blazing with hatred.

"What did I do?" He shrugged his shoulders.

"You treat me worse and worse each time we meet... All because he made us forget. I see my feelings never left. They were never erased." Molly's eyes were no longer rage, nor blazing. Now they were filled with sorrow and want for what was before. Sherlock walked towards her and pulled her in tightly.

"I'm sorry Molly. I should never have gotten you into this..." Molly looked up.

"I saved you, remember?" Sherlock swallowed and looked like he couldn't remember. "I know you remember." She chuckled. "That's what brought us together." They both sighed, remembering the times they wish still existed.

"I'm sorry Molly." She moved away from him, and looked deep into his eyes. "Sleep well..." Molly's eyes rolled as she fell into his arms. From her arm, Sherlock removed a small syringe. Inside it contained a sachet of the sugar Sherlock had taken from the cafe. Molly would forget. "It's better this way." Sherlock whispered into her ear as he lay her hands together on her waist.

As Sherlock walked out of the morgue, he turned back to her sleeping body. "I truly am sorry. One day you shall remember." And with that, Sherlock turned away. He walked silently back to 221B, attempting to control his new found emotions. Would the power be too strong for him? Could he manage it?

The last words John heard from Sherlock that night were, "I'm back. And she's gone..." when he walked through the door. He didn't stir again that night; remembering how much he hurt. How much he wanted the past back. But it was gone. Taken from him. And by his own brother.

The next morning Sherlock didn't leave his position. He lay on the sofa staring up towards the ceiling. What had he done? What could he do? Continuing to stare, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out:

'Sherlock.

I hope that you're reading this the morning after you make me forget. I knew you would. I just wanted to let you know I forgive you. I know that this will not mean much to you; but it's the best thing I can offer. I'm glad that you chose to help me forget because I don't think I could live with the pain of knowing what both you and I did to ourselves back in our past. My father... Let's just say that I don't want to remember those events.

I understand why you're like this now, and I hope that you never forget how I was. The way that I have lived, and will continue to live for the rest of my life, is a way in which I have enjoyed. No problems. No hatred for anyone or anything. I hope you enjoy being friends with this me as much as you loved the other one. You never know, maybe a few tricks will be played. Maybe one day, the real Molly Hooper will return. Look out for me.

This message is my note. Not for a suicide, but for the end of my old life.

I know it ended when we were 16, but now I truly am gone.

Thank you, Sherlock.

Thank you.

Yours forever,

Molly Hooper.'

Sherlock looked at his phone and read the message. Smiling he placed his phone onto the table. He looked at John, who was staring straight at him, and let out a small chuckle. He then returned to his upwards facing position.

"Did you receive my picture message?" John presumed that Sherlock was laughing at something funny. But was he?

"No. I deleted it before I'd even read it." John's eyes rolled. "Picture messages are very childish John."

John slammed a newspaper down onto the table. "Childish? Says the man who 'had' to make his ex forget about her past... Twice."

"Actually, the first time it was Mycroft." Sherlock corrected. "And it is NOT childish. She'll remember... Some day..." Sherlock snapped. He then smirked to himself as his hands placed themselves under his chin. "Do you know what, John?"

"What, Sherlock?" John replied immediately. It could be a number of things, so John wasn't willing to guess.

"I'm sure Molly will be just fine." John's head turned away from Sherlock.

"How do you know?"

Sherlock chuckled at John's question, sitting up and looking into his eyes. "That was her note..."

John looked puzzled. "What?!"

"Don't you see? She attached a file to her message... Her hard drive. Just like my brain, she left a back-up version on her phone. Molly hasn't gone, John. She's still very much alive..."

THE END.

_**Thank you for reading. :) I hope you enjoyed it all.**_


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